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I have a lot to say on this subject, as I was a whistle blower much of my time on active duty in the Air Force. It takes courage and a lot of emotional energy to stand up for what’s right and juste. You pay a price every time you do this. I think what it really comes down to is what you consider to be fair, and what you have the emotional energy to fight. It is a fight, for lack of a better word. You are being courageous enough to stand up for a terrible injustice, which may cost you your life or safety. It takes stamina, perseverance, and moral fiber. It costs you your emotional and sometimes physical health. You can be falsely imprisoned, medicated against your will, or attacked, even murdered. Self-care is now your priority. It takes a huge toll on you, and can alienate you from everyone in your support system. You pay a very high price for something that you have no idea what the outcome will be. Sometimes, there is no outcome… no reward for your suffering, and sometimes there is an outcome, whether it’s one you agree with, or not.

However, there will always be witnesses to your struggle. They see your fight, and the injustice. They sympathize with you and even sometimes take up your fight when you’re too weak to finish. This is an extension of your family and part of your healing. The effects of whistle blowing can be very traumatic and long-lasting. There is a sort of domino effect. It changes every aspect of your life. The adrenaline it gives you can only sustain you for so long. Oftentimes, when I would uncover something unjust, I also had to follow up with self-care, antidepressants, and counseling just to have the strength to recover. Depression can be like an undertow, washing you farther out into deeper waters until you drown. Choose your fights wisely, because there is a always a price to being a hero, and if you’re fighting for something fair and juste, then you are a hero. At least, that’s what a hero should be.

Yes, some of it is fictional, but I when I go to open-mic poetry readings, I try to bring it into the room. I wrote this in the bathroom of a coffee shop last minute at an open mic. It would probably be better, but I didn’t want to tie up the bathroom for too long. Haha!

Divorce court went well. It was fair. I am thrilled. I began my celebration by enticing my senses at the Nordstrom Joe Malone perfume counter. In case, you are not familiar with this line, they sell single-note fragrances. You can mix and match them. Your sense of smell is tied to your palette. I use to work in fragrance there. I am veteran. I had olfactory flashbacks related to my duties as a forensic photographer. It is so important to take care of what your 5 senses are exposed to. I got the bluebell fragrance with rose perfume samples.

After that, I was in an aromatic mood. I had something called a corpse reviver cocktail, made with:

1 1/2 oz vodka

1/2 oz Green chartreuse

1/2 oz cherry syrup

3/4 oz lemon juice

1 egg white

some decorative drops of metromeastro bitters garnish

Combine and dry shake.

The corpse reviver has several variations, all of which are supposed to help you through a hangover. Since that was not needed, I was able to concentrate on the heady herbal overtones. Can I just confess how much I love to smell herbs in a cocktail? To me, a great cocktail should also remind me of my struggles with domestic herb gardening. I know, yet another reason to drink. Just kidding. I love feeling like I’m drinking a bouquet of flowers while smelling like rose and bluebell flora. I’m a woman.

After that wonderful retreat at the Opal bar in the Dossier Hotel, I went to Urban Fondue and had black truffle fondue (dipped grilled asparagus and bread in it) with a rosemary lemon drop martini. This will be the very reason I seek an urban apartment with a balcony, so that I can grow rosemary to drop into vodka. Oh my gosh, so yummy.

Infusing vodka, for example, is so easy. Just rinse the herb, pat it dry and put it into a bottle of vodka. I would probably add something besides just one herb. What about rosemary and strawberries? Basil and lime? Dill and lemon for a bloody mary mix? You can be so creative. Just give it a few days for the vodka to absorb the herbs and citrus.

There’s also simple syrup that you could use in a cocktail. Simple syrup is a 1:1 ratio of sugar and water over medium heat in a sauce pan. Add the mint, basil, or whatever herb. After the sugar has melted with the fresh herbs in there, pour the concoction through a strainer, or perhaps a clean flour sifter into a bottle or jar. You can add that to anything. I have to say, mint-infused simple syrup is incredible in southern sweet tea. However, you are the mixologist, and you might as well think of it as making your own perfume but for your stomach. You can have so much fun with this. Please comment on your favorite concoctions, if you’d like. I bet y’all are gourmets too.

My view from behind the camera photographing the 173rd Airborne Brigade static-line jumping out of Black Hawks in Italy.

Whoah! Polar vortex and driving cross-country to a sick child. I had to get my car back from Georgia and all by myself, of course. Those that knew of this plan behaved the same way as everyone that ever tried to talk me out of joining the Air Force.

(What?! A woman can travel across country by herself? Well, bless her little heart).

Screw them.

There are two things that I wish I could do to every human I’ve ever had a problem with.

They need to go through basic training, so that I can pull up a chair and laugh at them the whole way through.

They need to waitress (in a woman’s body).

Anyhow, I made it. Do you have any idea how motivating 90’s rap can be? Oh my gosh, it was so much fun jamming out to:

Historically speaking, that is, and no, I do not have one. Physically, that is. I guess the modern equivalent would be wearing red cowgirl boots. I use to wear them obsessively, and one time I finally turned to a guy at the bar and asked him what he thought of those. He turned to me with the ghost expression of John Wayne and said, “why, I think when I see a woman wearing red cowgirl boots walking down the street, well, I say to myself. Now, that’s a woman that can handle her business.” Yes! Yes! By all means, YES! That is exactly the kind of woman I know I am.

About five days ago, I made something called, “Lil’ Jim’s Puddin’ Cake.” This is an incredibly yummy cake from the Grit’s cookbook. The Grit is a famous southern vegetarian and vegan restaurant in Athens, Georgia where I attended the University of Georgia’s Lamar Dodd School of Art. Gooooo dawgs! They just won the Rose Bowl, by the way. Anyhow, that is a DAMN good cookbook, and it is to the vegans that I always turn for their insatiably creative treatment of chocolate.

So, I made this cake from this wonderful cookbook, five days ago. I devoured a piece of it tonight while waiting for my future ex-husband to get off of the phone with his lawyer. We are in late night and early morning negotiations for our divorce. We’re supposed to go to court at 1pm tomorrow.

I have set out a piece for each of us, and what does this marauder I married do? He rejects the chocolate cake and eats store bought soup, instead. I knew it!!!

This man was NOT destined for me. All of that is bullshit. I made a big mistake, and all of my poor friends and family have been dealing with him, because they love me so much. What a humiliation. It’s ok, we have chocolate, here. Stay with me, people.

I offered this man chocolate. He wants me to back pay him for mortgage and car payments where I did not live and for a car I did not have possession of. Nope. He wants full legal, but not physical, custody of our child. Nope. Why, yes, that IS a scarlet red petticoat you spy under my pajamas. I’m coming back. To life, that is. If there’s anything a southern woman can stand for, it’s self-preservation and the protection of their spawn.

In my mind, I am Scarlett O’Hara walking into the lion’s den at Meli’s party while wearing, yes that’s right, a scarlet red petticoat. All I have to say is thank goodness for lawyers. Let’s not worry about how they make their money. Let’s talk about this cake.

I noticed in this cookbook that the cakes have apple cider vinegar, instead of eggs, and coffee and liquor, instead of tons of butter and milk. That’s right, folks. The BEST cakes have LIQUOR and espresso. It’s in our history books too.

My future ex and I even toured a southern plantation in New Orleans before we got married. The original owners of the home grew cotton. The women were not allowed to drink alcohol, but they sure did soak their fruit in it. So, it was customary to have huge vases of fruit soaking in liquor and to imbibe at the end of each meal. The women would have their liquor, by God! And, to that I say hell yes! You poor things. I’m hoping you also had a beautiful scarlet red petticoat. We shall have our liquor! We shall have our divorce! We shall have our espresso! Women’s rights, here we come!

I haven’t quite retested my own recipe for this more than once, because I would not change a single thing. I suggest you call the Grit, or buy their incredible cookbook. After all, them and the Last Resort Grill have the best dessert counters in all of Athens, Georgia. I am already handling a divorce and do not want to open myself up to plagiarism. Don’t worry. I’ll get the hang of this soon. Depending on how court goes tomorrow, I may be talking about herb infused liquors next time we shall meet. Yes, I was being serious there.

Hells to the yeah! I start culinary school in February. Not only is cooking a passion of mine, but my toddler gives me a standing ovation when I make a yummy delight for him. Who doesn’t want more of that?

Another thing I want to accomplish is to concentrate on special diets (probably on weekends), like ones that are helpful for autistic children and adults, like my own. I’m thinking this will also turn into a culinary blog. I want to test some low glycemic recipes, as well. Diabetics really need tasty alternatives to high sugar food. There aren’t that many cookbooks for diabetics in comparison to, say, french food. I’ve tried a lot of low glycemic recipes, and, I have to say, they were really bland. I want to use my juicer to make beautiful sauces, and use fresh herbs to entice even the most stubborn autistic child or adult into eating something healthy. I experiment everyday. There are jobs where I could work in a test kitchen, or catering. Have you ever heard of a low glycemic catering business? I haven’t. Why not? Diabetes is an epidemic. Surely, we can change this, right?

One of the other perks is that the GI Bill is saving me from being homeless. Thank you, Basic Allowance for Housing! Things are looking up, and I’ve been kind and easy going with my future-ex. Here’s a few selfies from yours truly.

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